


Carve

by ornategrip



Category: Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: M/M, Masturbation, Rough Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-30
Updated: 2012-04-30
Packaged: 2017-11-04 14:49:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 674
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/395061
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ornategrip/pseuds/ornategrip
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rick tells himself it doesn't count, not when it's all in his own head. Ain't cheating on his wife, if he's just thinking about Shane.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Carve

**Author's Note:**

> For [this](http://twd-kinkmeme.livejournal.com/2684.html?thread=2414972#t2414972)prompt on TWD kink meme.

It doesn’t count.

That’s what he tells himself when he sneaks off to some dark corner, hand already fumbling for the fly of his pants. What he tells himself when he hauls his dick out, hard and wet at the tip, just aching to be touched. What goes on in his own head is nobody’s business but his own. Doesn’t matter if he’s thinking of his wife, or some playboy bunny, or, or -

Or Shane.

Doesn’t matter that it’s always Shane, big broad shoulders and those eyes of his, just staring at Rick like Rick is the god who betrayed him. Looking so good on his knees, mouth wrapped tight around Rick’s cock. Shane would take it so good too, suck him like a pro and open up his throat. Just let Rick slide deep inside where it was all wet and warm. Let Rick use him.

Rick hisses out through his teeth, works his cock harder, his fist a pitiful imitation for the heaven that would be Shane’s mouth but it’s all he has. He pulls his hand off, spits into his palm then strokes himself again. Better, a little bit better, not perfect but better.

Perfect would be sliding into Shane’s tight ass. Of course Rick has noticed Shane’s ass, would have to be blind not too. Doesn’t mean anything, not really. A man can look.

Rick wants to look. Wants Shane spread out, putting on a show, shoving his own fingers into his ass to get himself ready for Rick. Rick can picture it perfectly, Shane naked and sweaty, knees spread wide. Shane tans so pretty and he’d be tan all over except for his lily white ass. The sight of that, of those thick dark fingers shoving into Shane, getting himself ready, getting himself _wet_ for Rick...

It’s almost too much, but not enough, not really, his hand flying over his dick so fast. Imagines the look on Shane’s face, the way he’d stare Rick dead on. A lesser man might duck his gaze, might peer up from behind his eyelashes. Not Shane. No, Shane wouldn’t even blink, just look at Rick like he can see right through him. See all Rick’s wants and desires, shame and guilt.

Rick wants to fuck that look right out of him.

With a muffled curse, Rick grabs the bottom of his shirt, hikes it up high enough to bite down on the hem. He can’t help the grunts and whimpers that come out of his mouth and smothering the sounds is the best thing to do. The fabric soaks up his saliva but quick, he can taste his own sweat and dirt and he grits his teeth against the cotton and keeps fucking into his fist the way he’d fuck into Shane’s ass.

He could do it too, shove Shane’s hand out of the way and just sink into his welcoming body because of course Shane would welcome him in. Shane’s let him in everywhere else so why not here? 

And Rick would fuck him like he deserves to be fucked, hard and too fast and not enough lube. Fuck him so he’ll feel it the next day, will walk around limping because of Rick, every bit of pain just reminding him of what Rick did to him. So Rick will be carved into him as harshly as Shane is carved into Rick.

Rick comes picturing the wince on Shane’s face when the man goes to sit at the table for dinner, everybody a witness.

He slumps back, breathing harsh and loud in the silence of the barn, the wooden wall digging into his shoulders. He strokes himself gently, little aftershocks of pleasure jerking through him even as he struggles to get his breathing under control. He spits his shirt out of his mouth but it only falls half-way down, leaving his belly exposed. The barn is dark and cool, the sweat on his skin making him shiver.

It doesn’t count, he tells himself, semen cooling on his skin.

Doesn’t count at all.


End file.
